The Offer (30 page)

“My goodness,” Martine said, rising on her elbow as she slowly pulled her peignoir over her lovely self. “I hadn't expected this.”

Sabrina looked again at his now nearly naked mistress, and yelled back at him, “I wish the plaster had fallen on your head while you were making love to her, you bastard! How dare you even be here? It makes me want to slay you, Phillip. Damn you, you're my husband!”

“What are you yammering about plaster? Oh! So you were eavesdropping, were you? Not a very ladylike thing to do, Sabrina.” He stopped. He'd never felt such a fool in his life. Dammit, this couldn't be happening, not to him. It was more worthy of a farce in Drury Lane. He took several furious steps toward her.

“Ladylike! You rotter, you're mine, yet you won't even give me a chance.”

“It's true that you're my wife, and as such, why the devil aren't you at home, where you belong?”

“It's
your
home, you faithless bastard, not mine. I don't belong there, I merely reside there. She could reside there as well. It wouldn't matter to you.”

“Dammit, Sabrina, that makes no sense at all. I won't tolerate any more of this. Go home now. I'll deal with you later.”

“Later? You mean after you've bedded her? Then perhaps you'll have time to spend with me? How kind you are. My heart nearly expires with the joy of it.”

“What I do with her is none of your business. You're the one who offered me my freedom, freedom I told you I already had and always would have.”

“You dared to accuse me of flirting with Richard Clarendon and all the while you have a mistress. A mistress!” Sabrina waved toward Martine who was sitting on the side of the bed. “How dare you do this to me? Do I mean so little to you that you don't hesitate to humiliate me? Does our marriage mean so little to you?”

“Enough of this idiocy. Listen. Our marriage, madam, was meant to provide you a home and the protection of my name. You wanted that, don't you remember? You offered me marriage, don't you remember? You offered me my freedom.”

She actually shook her fist at him, yelling, “That was then. This is now. I love you. You're my husband. I won't allow you any more freedom unless the freedom is with me!” She looked over at Martine to see the woman smiling at her, nodding. It made no sense. It didn't stop her. “I know that she is beautiful and much more nicely put together than I am, but she didn't get ruined, I did. You didn't have to marry her, you had to marry me. So it's done. Accept it, damn you.”

“Accept it like I did when I saw you take Richard Clarendon into that very private little room of yours?”

“Will you forever play that same tired song? It's absurd, and you know it.” Then her eyes narrowed, her hands were on her hips. “Well, perhaps you weren't wrong. Perhaps Richard is so pleasing to me that I just might go see him right now while you remain here to enjoy yourself.”

“You won't take Richard Clarendon as your lover. You won't take any man as a lover.”

She stared at him, unable to believe his perversity.

He smote his forehead with his palm. “Ah, you're driving me to the brink of madness. Go home, Sabrina. I won't take any more of this. Get out of here. By God, you're ranting like the lowest trollop in Soho.”

“You bastard,” she screamed at him. “I catch you with your mistress and you have the gall to call me a trollop?” She ran at him, pounding on his chest with her fists with all her strength.

Martine came to her feet, then just shook her head and sat back down again.

Phillip clamped his arms about his wife and dragged her to the small dressing room adjoining the bedchamber. He kicked the door closed with his booted foot. “Stop it, Sabrina, stop it.” He was shaking her until her neck snapped back.

She became rigid in his arms and he released her. She took a stumbling step backward. She opened her mouth, but he interrupted her.

“Your behavior is inexcusable. You won't question what I do. Now you will take yourself quietly away from here, else I will seriously consider sending you to Dinwitty Manor to learn your place.”

“My place? I don't have a place, Phillip. Now that I've seen how you've humiliated me, stripped me of even any pretense of worth—” She broke off. “You don't even understand, do you?”

“I understand enough to want to thrash you,” he said low and grabbed her shoulders.

Sabrina drove her knee with all her strength into his groin. He dropped his hands and stared at her in amazement. “I'm a big man. You could have kicked
me anywhere but there.” Then he doubled over in pain.

Sabrina ran from the small dressing room. She wouldn't think about him holding himself, on his knees. She pulled the door open and, without another look at his mistress, fled from the bedchamber.

For several minutes Phillip thought death would be preferable to the exquisite bowing pain that had brought him to his knees. As the bouts of nausea slowly lessened, thank God, it was Sabrina's death he thought about. He pulled himself shakily to his feet and walked slowly back into the bedchamber. Without a word, he pulled on his coat.

“You look whiter than a trout's belly. What happened?”

“She kicked me in the groin,” he said as he grabbed his greatcoat.

“That is an extreme thing to do, but she was very angry, the little one.”

“She'll regret it soon enough,” he said as he jerked on his gloves.

“You will beat her? Surely not, Phillip. She's half your size. That would hardly be fair. Besides, you're a gentleman. A gentleman wouldn't beat his wife.”

He was already to her bedchamber door.

“But she's in love with you,” Martine shouted. “She told you that.”

“Ha! It's a girl's infatuation, nothing more. Surely she lost that after I took her three times in one night and never once gave her pleasure. Yes, she's over that. She's just saying it by rote. It means nothing at all. Now I'm going to murder her.”

He turned at the door. “I will always have my freedom. I will always do just as I please. I'll be back later, Martine.”

Martine sat back down on the bed and leaned back
against the pillows, listening to his galloping footsteps on the stairs.

Lanscombe said not a word as his master jumped into the curricle and grabbed the reins. The furious working of the viscount's jaw didn't bode well for the viscountess. Like a frightened little animal, she'd flown down the steps, running full speed toward a hackney.

Ten minutes later the viscount pulled his stallions to a steaming halt.

“Stable them,” he said over his shoulder to Lanscombe as he took the front steps of the Derencourt town house two at a time.

“Where is the viscountess?” Phillip said the moment he saw Greybar.

“She returned just a short time ago, my lord. I believe she went up to her room.”

Phillip stopped in front of Sabrina's bedchamber door. He turned the handle. The door was locked. The pulse pounded in his neck.

“Open the door, Sabrina.”

Her voice came back to him, loud and quite clear. “Go away, Phillip. Go back to Martine. I don't want to see you. Go away.”

“I'll go back to Martine whenever it pleases me to do so,” he shouted, took a step back, raised his booted leg, and crashed it against the door. He heard splintering wood. He aimed one more kick nearer to the lock and the door flew open, straining at its hinges.

Sabrina stood with her back against the windows. She stared at him, standing there in her doorway, breathing hard. “Go away, Phillip. Go away.”

He walked toward her, slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. He was very, very angry.

Sabrina pulled her hand up from the folds of her skirt. She was clutching a riding crop tightly in her
fingers. “Stay away from me, Phillip, or I'll hurt you, I swear it.”

“The only thing I'll stay away from is your damned knee.”

“I mean it. Go away.” She raised the riding crop and shook it at him.

“Try your best, you little witch.” He was on her. She swung it wildly at him, but he took a quick sideways step, and she merely flicked his sleeve. He lunged forward and gripped her arm just above the elbow. As he forced her arm down she tried again to kick him. He turned to his side, letting her strike his thigh.

He gripped her arm more tightly. She felt the numbness, felt the riding crop slip from her fingers. He pulled her close. “I can't believe you struck me,” he said.

“In your groin or now?”

He looked down at the riding crop. She'd hit him. He looked at her now, saw her face washed of color, saw the bruises beneath her expressive eyes, saw the fear in them. Lightly, he caressed his fingers over her cheek. He said quietly, “What have we come to, Sabrina?”

She shook her head, saying nothing.

“I never meant to hurt you when I took you as my wife. I always meant to honor you, to protect you, yet we've come to this. It's damnable. What will we do now?”

“I don't know,” she said, “but I can't bear it, Phillip, I really can't.”

“You unmanned me.”

“I was very angry. I'm sorry, but I'd do it again. You were with her.”

“I was there for a reason, Sabrina.”

“Yes, I imagine that you were.”

He sighed and let her go. He leaned down and picked up the riding crop. “You knew I'd come back here. You were going to protect yourself with this?”

“I had nothing else. It seems like another lifetime, but I still remember. When we were at the hunting box, when you were taking care of me, you told me you'd show me how to fight. You didn't. You forgot.”

“Yes, I suppose I did. If I'd taught you, I wonder what damage you would have inflicted on me at Martine's.”

“Go away, Phillip. I've really said everything I wanted to. Please just leave me alone.”

“Yes,” he said finally, “I suppose there really isn't anything more to say at the moment.” He left her then, walking away from her, lightly hitting the riding crop against his leg.

She turned to stare blindly into the glowing embers in the fireplace. He was right. There wasn't anything more to say.

Downstairs, Greybar said to Dambler just after the viscount had slammed his way out the front door, “I don't know what's going on, but it's bad.”

“I know,” Dambler said. “I've never seen his lordship like this.”

“We've both never seen him married.” Greybar shuddered. “What will happen now?”

Sabrina slowly laid down the pen. She looked away from the letter she'd spent the past hour writing. She looked out her bedchamber windows. Heavy-bellied clouds, laden with snow, hung low in the early morning sky. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, quickly added several more lines to her letter, and turned away to finish packing her portmanteau.

She fastened the straps, dragged the portmanteau to the door, then saw her letter on the writing desk, and returned to read it one last time.

“Dear Phillip,” she read. “I've returned to Monmouth Abbey. I'm truly sorry if my abrupt departure causes you embarrassment. I'm also sorry for many other things, Phillip, least among them my outrageous behavior of yesterday. You were perfectly right. I had no right to act the wounded wife and kick you in the groin for having a mistress, although I didn't care at the time, I was so angry.

“You will perhaps believe me the perfect hypocrite now, but I find that I simply cannot continue as we have. You've said that your freedom is important to you, you've said it many times, I just never listened. Now I hear you. It's just that now I realize that I simply can't be but one of the women to share your life. I want more than that. I'm worth more than that, at least I think I am, hope I am. Perhaps I'm wrong.

“It's time for me to return where I belong. I no longer have any real fear of Trevor, for as you have said, he values his own survival above all things.

“I know you're a proud man, Phillip, and that's as it should be. I ask that in your pride you will not feel yourself honorbound to come after me. I've thought hard about this. It's the only thing to do. It's what I want. Good-bye. I'm truly sorry for all the misery I brought into your life. You didn't deserve it.”

Sabrina glanced one last time about her bedchamber, pulled her cloak closely about her, and made her way downstairs.

She stopped right in front of Greybar and said in her coldest voice, “Is my hired carriage here?”

Greybar was wringing his hands. “Wouldn't you prefer to wait for his lordship to return? He should be back shortly. It shouldn't be long now. Surely he wouldn't want you to travel in a hired carriage. A viscountess shouldn't ever travel in a hired carriage with hired horses. It isn't safe. Please, my lady, just wait a moment longer, perhaps just ten minutes. All right?”

“Good-bye, Greybar. You've been kind to me. But I must go now. Surely you understand that.”

She carried her own portmanteau out the front door, leaving Greybar to stare after her, still wringing his hands.

She walked quickly from the house into the cold morning. She stepped into the carriage and waved her gloved hand to the butler, who stood shivering and uncertain on the front steps, still wringing his hands.

The horses started forward and she was tossed back onto the squabs. She drew a carriage blanket over her legs and sat there, staring out at nothing at all.

 

The weary horses pulled to a steaming halt in front of Monmouth Abbey early four evenings later.
Sabrina looked at the great weathered stone building, half castle, half manor house, its jagged surfaces worn smooth through the centuries. Smoke billowed from the massive fireplaces that towered twenty feet above the slate roof. Sharp points of candlelight dotted the latticed windows.

It was very cold but at least it wasn't snowing. It was quite dark, a quarter moon lighting the sky.

She paused a moment before the great oak doors, her stomach knotting at the thought of facing down Trevor. But she could do it. She would face him down. She would, quite simply, kill him if he ever tried to touch her again. She pounded hard on the huge brass griffin knocker.

Ribble opened the massive doors. He just stared at her, then shouted, “Lady Sabrina! Oh, my dear child, you're home. Do come in. Oh, gracious, it's wonderful to see you again.”

He hugged her against him and she nearly burst into tears. “It's so good to see you again, Ribble. You're looking well. Is Grandfather all right? It's been almost a week since I've heard anything. Please tell me he's all right.”

“Yes, he improves every day, I promise you.” Ribble set her away from him. She looked disheveled, thin, pale. He wanted to wrap her in three blankets, set her in front of a fireplace, and feed her. Instead, because he knew her, he said, “No, it's all right. Everything will be fine. You're home and we'll all take care of you. Now, where is his lordship? Is he behind you?”

“He isn't with me,” Sabrina said simply, and walked into the large flagstone entrance hall.

“Sabrina!”

She looked up to see Elizabeth clutching the railing at the bottom of the staircase.

“Hello, Elizabeth. Just a moment, please.” She turned back to Ribble. “Please see to my coachman and have my portmanteau brought in. Thank you.”

She was aware of Ribble giving instructions to two footmen who were gawking at the returned prodigal. What had everyone been told? What did they believe?

She walked to where her sister still stood, staring at her as if she were a ghost, that or something depraved that had wandered by accident into her view. “You're looking very well, Elizabeth. I hope you are feeling just the thing.”

“Why wouldn't I be? I didn't run away and get caught in a snowstorm and nearly die.”

To think she'd nearly held out her arms to her sister. “No, I expect you're just fine. Your gown is very stylish.” Actually, the gown was lovely, but it seemed that Elizabeth had lost flesh. The gown hung off her thin shoulders. But her glorious fair hair was full and thick in braids around her face, wisps dangling down her neck. Sabrina tried to smile. She knew she had to be conciliating.

Elizabeth took the last step and stood not a foot from her sister. “What are you doing here? I don't recall asking you to come back. I know that Grandfather hasn't. Well, maybe the old fool has written to ask you to come. I don't know since he won't allow either Trevor or me to read his letters.”

“No, Grandfather didn't ask me to come. I came on my own. I would like to stay with you for a while.”

Elizabeth said coldly, “Now that you're here, standing right in front of me, I suppose I can't send you away, at least tonight. Where is your husband?”

“He's still in London. I wanted to see Grandfather, Elizabeth. I've felt so helpless not being here with him.”

“Doubtless he will want to see you. You nearly
caused his death, Sabrina. I hope this time you'll behave as you should, as a lady should.”

“Ah, conduct myself as a lady should. Now what does that mean? I wonder. Does it mean that a lady would simply lie helplessly in her bed to wait for her brother-in-law to come and rape her? Is that what you mean? You say nothing. Listen to me. Please don't distort the truth now, at least not to yourself.”

To her surprise, Elizabeth stared her down. Sabrina blinked, looked away. Elizabeth grabbed her sleeve and brought her close. “You little slut, don't you try to preach at me.” Then she released Sabrina and laughed. “If you were guilty of nothing, sister, how is it that you are so very brave now? With your husband still in London, you have no protection from Trevor—if it is protection you need.”

“It's very simple, Elizabeth. Both you and Trevor know that Phillip would kill him without hesitation if he so much as laid a hand on me, or even thought about it.”

“Since it never happened, neither of us need to worry, do we?”

“Good God, what have we here? If it isn't my little sister. What an unexpected surprise.”

Sabrina saw Elizabeth go rigid at her husband's voice. She turned to watch him come down the stairs, his walk lazy, the expression on his too-pretty face filled with rich humor. He never looked away from her face.

“Yes, it is I, Trevor. I have come back to see Grandfather.”

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, making no move toward her. “And where is your marvelously fierce husband?”

Elizabeth said, “The viscount is still in London. He
will arrive shortly. As she said, she's here to visit Grandfather.”

“How delighted the old gentleman will be. His precious little Sabrina, returned to the fold. You will find him sadly changed, little sister, but quite alive.”

“Yes. Both Phillip and Richard Clarendon assured me that Grandfather would continue to improve in his health, that you would see to it, Trevor.”

“How could one not see to that dear old man? Is he not my great-uncle? I have all the loyalty and tender feelings of a grandson. Yes, the old man will live until the next century.”

Sabrina merely nodded and said to Elizabeth, “If you wouldn't mind, Elizabeth, I would like to visit Grandfather now. I shall be quite content with a tray, if it wouldn't be too much trouble for Cook.”

“Perhaps there is something remaining.”

“But, my dear Elizabeth,” Trevor said, “have you forgotten? Why, we haven't dined yet. Surely there will be a veritable feast of food, some of which we can share with your dear little sister. Perhaps I can even bring a tray to her myself. Perhaps she'd like me to remain with her and chat while she eats.”

Sabrina didn't feel the numbing fear she'd felt before. It was odd, but she was strong now, and it wasn't simply because she knew Trevor was afraid of Phillip. No, she knew that she'd kill the bastard if he came near her. Why not tell him so? Then she saw her sister's face. No, if he dared to come near her, then she'd tell him.

She said, “Since I'll be with Grandfather, Trevor, he will doubtless entertain me.” She nodded to both of them, then walked up the stairs, her back straight.

Trevor called up after her, “Do ask the old gentleman if he would like to see either Elizabeth or me. It's been a while since he's enjoyed our company.”

“I can believe that,” Sabrina said over her shoulder. Neither of them said anything as she kept walking.

Trevor walked to his wife. He smiled down at her, raised his fingers, and lightly stroked them over her cheek. Then he drew her hand through his arm. “Of course, your sister is pleased to see me again, don't you think? It will give us an excellent opportunity to become better friends, don't you agree, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth stared at the toes of her slippers that were peeping out from beneath the hem of her gown. She nodded numbly.

“I believe I asked you a question, Elizabeth.”

Sabrina had turned at the sound of Trevor's voice, all low and oily. She felt the blood pound at her temples as she watched Trevor slide his fingers to the soft skin on the inside of Elizabeth's arm and pinch her. She couldn't help herself. She raced down the stairs, yelling, “Don't you touch her, you filthy bastard! Don't you dare hurt her.”

Elizabeth said calmly, “Be quiet, Sabrina. Go on your way. Visit with Grandfather. Leave us alone.” Then she smiled up at her husband. “As you say, Trevor, that's perfectly true.”

“Perhaps,” Trevor said, “just perhaps, Sabrina, after Elizabeth has retired, you and I can have tea. Would you like that?”

“I'd like for you to change into a human being, but that is unlikely to happen, isn't it?” She turned on her heel and walked back up the stairs.

“Until tomorrow then, little sister,” Trevor called after her; something in his voice would have scared her to her toes, regardless of Phillip's threat to Trevor, if she hadn't stolen Phillip's derringer and had it in her reticule at this very moment.